Well what a waste of time that was staying up all night to watch the election results, just so the polls could be proved right about a hung parliament. Believe me, there is nothing worse than watching smug political pundits being vindicated in their predictions, although I imagine there must be alot of ducking and diving in Downing Street right now, as Gordo throws yet another tantrum – and several mobile phones – after being rumbled by the public at last.
So it would appear that her Maj cannot as yet, ask one of the three Caballeros to form a government, this being the case, I think I will concentrate instead on defrosting the gammon steaks we are having for dinner tonight and ask “She who wears the Trousers” to pick up a bag of salad on the way home.
Meantime I’m off for forty winks again to replace some lost shut eye – and maybe get into practice for when I come back as Max the Cat.
Later on, Max decided it was time to stretch the legs and go for a meander around the Close, clearly all this laying out in the sun was maybe proving just a little too stressful for him. The other day, he decided to risk one of his nine lives and play chicken with an oncoming car out on the main road through the village, while he was on one his “patrols” round the neighbourhood. Later on he could be found curled up on his owners shed in the shade of an overhanging tree waiting for them to return from work so he could be fed. This is Max deciding to get a bit closer to have his photo taken – clearly he is at home on a “catwalk”.
So Lil, forget working for a living, lets all go out gallivanting, get fed, lie asleep in the sun and occasionally stretch ones legs – just to make sure they work when it’s time for dinner.
Yep – no doubt about it, if there is such a thing as reincarnation, then I’m definitely coming back as Max the Cat!
I am depressed; absolutely mortified; inconsolable in fact; you may well ask what it is that has me in this state? Chelsea won at Liverpool, okay the rugby semi-finals were a disappointment if you’re Irish, but something far worse has now occurred in village life.
“She who wears the Trousers” popped into Morrisons the other day and observed a new form of ploughman’s pie on sale. You will recall that over Easter, I expressed my distress that the beloved and now much missed Pork, Cheese and Pickle Ploughmans pie had been removed from sale. Well having brought a slice of the new version for my delectation, I can only report that this is not only an inferior version of our much loved stodgy delight, but it looks absolutely nothing like a ploughmans pie. In fact one would hesitate to call it Pork.
I have a picture of the aforementioned material below: you can draw your own conclusions.
Leaving aside the assault on my tastebuds by the cheap imitation above, I feel moved to report that there doesn’t appear to be much in the way of election fever around our village. Apart from a few leaflets from the main candidates – all delivered by some miracle via Royal Mail – there is a particular dearth of actual candidates knocking on the doors. As a keen observer of village life, not even our prospective local councillors have paid us a visit, they are also relying on leaflet drops and the odd telephone canvass. The British Numpty Party have managed to festoon the front of one house in Brownhills with it’s posters – either that or they’re skimping on the decorating again.
With a live candidate about as common round here as rocking horse manure, the Labour candidate did pledge that if elected he will move into the Brownhills ward – assuming he can affect a mutual exchange with another tenant to move closer to Walsall – as if people are that keen to move closer to Walsall ha ha.
Seems like I now have a reason after all, to retrieve the polling card from the recycling bin – and vote for someone else!!
I was given a copy of the Queen Mother’s biography for Christmas and progress with this weighty tome has been slow even for an avid reader such as myself. Well thanks to old Culpability Brown, I think I have now found the ideal way of avoiding the drivel and hot air of the forthcoming General Election campaign.
No doubt “She who wears the Trousers” will be taking an interest in what Dave or more likely his wife says and does; but for me, I’m finding it wearisome already. The first Leaders debate is on Thursday, so close attention will be paid to what the leaders have to say – or more realistically don’t say.
I have only three points of interest regarding these debates:
1. Will Nick Clegg bring his Mrs along?
2. Will Gordon Brown be wearing that same purple tie?
3. Will “Dave” have a special parting in his hair for the event?
Answers on a postcard please, but don’t give them to Royal Mail: their recent track record with local to local correspondence does not inspire me with much confidence.
You know the old joke about utility companies – how there’s always one digging and five watching? Not so long back, I saw a variation of this in action on the main street which runs through our village. There they were: four vans liveried in utility company signage, five workmen peering into a freshly dug hole by the back gates to the local primary school…. and no-one digging!
A couple of days later at about 11 o’clock on what was a bright sunny day, I passed by the same location and what did I see? Nothing, nada, niet as the picture below illustrates.
In what has now become an all-too familiar sight on our streets, a utility company arrives en masse to tear up the footpath, installs temporary traffic lights most drivers ignore, and two days later we still have…. a large hole in the ground!
Granted, while this in itself is far from unique, the picture below also illustrates yet another piece of joined up thinking ( NOT ) from those responsible for Clayhanger’s highways and byways. This one being near the old railway bridge further up the road.
One wonders if the tax money we pay to those making such decisions perhaps spend a little too much time ticking boxes, and not enough taking in the local scenery. This is not recent by the way; the powers that be were told over a year ago when it was first erected, and yet, we still wait for the apperance of that mythical creature, an officer from Walsall Council’s Highways Department possessing that all-too rare quality – a modicum of common sense.
With such qualities seemingly as rare as Rocking-Horse manure, I suppose it must also be true that there really are fairies at the bottom of the garden!
I could not believe it last Easter Monday, when “She Who Wears the Trousers” and I, ventured into our local Morrisons Supermarket. There we were, after two hard days re-planting the garden, salivating at the prospect of a large piece of calorie loaded, cholesterol inducing, artery hardening English goodness that is the ploughmans pork, cheese and pickle pie; only to find that it’s been withdrawn from sale!
We were forced instead to suffer the inferior alternative of ordinary slicing pie. It’s an absolute outrage: So much so that I shall be waging a campaign to have our favourite stodgy delicacy, restored to it’s rightful place next to the Scotch Eggs and Sausage Rolls on the fresh deli counter. Since he rode off into the sunset standards would appear to have slipped, so I appeal to you, Sir Ken Morrison, please reconsider this assault on our tastebuds – your deli needs you!
I have posted a photo of the offending material for your information and non-gratification.